


The Secret Guild of the Fearless Merchants

by Luxaria



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, okay this is kind of a long form shit post, unnecessary backstory for the traders around the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxaria/pseuds/Luxaria
Summary: Do you ever wonder why those traders just hang out in the middle of nowhere? Aloy does. It frustrates her.





	The Secret Guild of the Fearless Merchants

**Author's Note:**

> Wouldn’t it be hilarious if you explained why these traders are all over the place, even in the jungle, with no in game explanation? Wouldn’t it be hilarious if you only thought of the Aloy getting exasperated bit and not any of the other parts of this story before writing it so you had to work backwards like you do with all of your stories? Wouldn’t it be hilarious if halfway through you decided to create a cult off of the distorted log of a sarcastic employee moaning about work?  
> Man, that would be hilarious.
> 
> I hope Guerrila Games sees this and makes it canon. I’d die.

On one of the rare occasions where Aloy managed to return to Meridian for some “R&R”, as she’d heard it called on the audiologs, a question plagued her mind. The thought, once so easily brushed off (when saving the world as they knew it was her main priority), had gained traction in her mind as she traveled around the land, constantly being reminded of the oddities around her. Naturally, being an Outsider, she assumed this was just something that happened here- sure, there were a few around the Sacred Lands, but at least they were near roads- but the more she saw, the more she could not contain her curiosity. So, she posed her questions to her eclectic group of dining and drinking companions, for surely the Sunhawk of the Lodge, the Captain of the Vanguard and well, whatever Vanasha actually did now, would be able to come up with something.

“Do you guys know what’s up with all those traders around? Because they show up in the oddest places.”

* * *

 

Across the town another meeting was taking place, with inarguably fewer faces of Meridian’s most influential lot, in a room only slightly bigger than the usually empty location allocated to the Saviour. A flickering fire lit the meeting, drapes portraying great scenes from the organisation’s history hanging on the walls, swaying slightly in the gentle breeze flowing through the open door. A door that was currently letting in a small band of shrouded figures. Their robes were simple, especially compared to the most ornate of the already gathered crowd, but this was to be expected, for none of the lowest rungs of their order were worthy of the most materialistic outfits. As they shuffled in they could hear the tail end of what was clearly a well-worn argument, judging from the sighs emanating from the people around the man making the most noise in the centre of the room.

“The Hunter’s Guild gets all the glory, yet _we_ are the people who are _truly the bravest!_ ”

His debating partner sighed and nodded their head in agreement.

“That is the burden we bear son, to go unrecognised for our courage as we pursue our true goal- ”

“ _Shhh_ , not before the new initiates have sworn their oath.”

The two members having a _lively discussion_ were quieted by a third, slightly more senior person who had noticed the wide-eyed entrants to the room. All eyes turned to the door.

“You are right, of course, Darseem, apologies. I defer to the Mercanter to proceed.”

The last figure still standing cloaked in shadow shuffled forward, the ornate robes (including a headpiece that wobbled rather precariously- not that anyone in the room would dare comment on the structural integrity of the traditional garb) weighing the Mercanter down. An onlooker might go as far to say that the whole ensemble looked a bit ridiculous. An onlooker would definitely go as far to say the whole ceremony was ridiculous once they found out the unsteady foundation it was built upon. However, there were no onlookers allowed there, on the cool desert night.

The room was silent as the gathered crowd looked to their leader with rapt attention, for it was not often all of them were allowed to hear the words passed directly on from their prophet.

“We are blessed, to be the lucky ones that hear the voice of an Old One, one of the people to hail from the Metal World before us. A world shrouded in darkness. However, they did leave us with a parting gift, as I said before, one that lights and leads our way through this treacherous world.”

He moved aside to reveal the glowing object, only giving small pulses of purple light but enough to prove its ancient origin. It lay on a pillow of the finest Carja silks, as it did seem to be quite a fragile device, despite it lasting for such a significant time.

“From our prophet; Jemma of Wal-Mart.”

The room was silent with awe as they took in the sight.

To be fair to the gathered group, a lot had changed since the time of their prophet, so they could not be expected to understand the exact nature of what they had built their… _organisation_ … upon. Not many teenagers from before the end of their civilisation could boast starting a cult from the distorted voice message left on a phone. Especially not an angry message filled with such an incredible amount of sarcasm that humanity’s future society took it a bit more seriously than she would have expected, but Jemma could not have foreseen that. Her words had lost their context when the managers they were aimed at disappeared along with the now hallowed institute she worked for. A funny irony, that she would live on as a symbol of the very job she hated.

But this humourous note was lost on the Guild of Fearless Merchants, to use their preferred title, and they bravely ploughed on with the initiation of the new recruits.

“Now speak the words.”

As one, the initiates recited their oath, reverently lowering their heads towards the piece of ancient technology.

“May I stand tall for the shifts I am given, without seat or rest. I profess to know how fight the unholy demon, Can-I Spek T’Manjerrr- recognised first by their atrociously cut manes and second by their screeching tones- with grace and strong will. Let us give thanks for our rare breaks from our thankless and never-ending tasks and above all, we bow to the hymnal joy of the Jingle, the Neverending Jingle.”

The deed was done, they had pledged their lives to the betterment of society, though they had doomed themselves to a misunderstood endeavour. For no one would ever appreciate the true work they did.

Various pictograms covered the walls, all of different sizes, colours, shapes and included a number of extinct languages, representing a selection of the guilds of the Old Ones. Each inductee would eventually go on to pick one, once they could fully appreciate the history behind the entire pantheon of their predecessors.

“You will be given your assignments soon, take them without argument for that is how a good employee should behave, that is the will of our Prophet.”

The murmur of conversation rose as the ceremony ended, with the younger members eager to discuss possible postings and the older members reminiscing on their past experiences, both the high points and the low points (which included far too many Machine encounters for the newbies’ liking). After a suitable amount of mingling the Merchanter stood and waited for the room to quiet.

“Before we leave here tonight we must say our final oath: Not just any goods.”

The rest of the room bowed their heads and replied with the ancient refrain:

“These are Emandess goods.”

“Go forth to your positions and remember:”

The words of the Mercanter were received with a great cheer, but it is not the place of an onlooker to be privy to the ancient and most sacred of all of Wage’s commands. For that, an onlooker would have to be inducted into the most difficult of all professions, the job that is thankless but the root of society: _Retail_.

* * *

 

“Seriously, it’s crazy where I find these folk! I found one on top of a plateau- in the jungle- surrounded by Stalkers! It’s like they’re playing the world’s most dangerous game of hide and seek!”

Aloy, the Saviour of the Lands, Sacred, Sunlit and otherwise, threw her hands up in despair as she related the unravelling story she’d uncovered on her travels- the odd locations of the helpful merchants around the lands. There was nothing any of her companions could say or do to explain the mysterious ways of the traders, although try they did. Many options were tabled, discussed and discarded as they spoke long into the night on the possibilities of a trader spy ring (“But they never _move, I’ve checked!_ I sat and watched one!”); archaeological searches (“If they wanted to find something they could just ask! _I’m right there!_ ”); coded messenger systems ( _See rebuttal to “Spy Ring”_ ); even a complex religious ritual (“Erend you’re drunk.”).

But none of the theories could adequately explain the positioning of these stoic salesmen and women, why they never seemed to move, not for eating or drinking nor for resupplying.

“They just _stand_ there, what are they doing?! Do they have a death wish?! What are they trying to _achieve_?!”

Her voice cracked on the last syllable as she collapsed backwards on to the pile of cushions that served as a seat in Meridian. _What were they doing?_

Alas, Aloy- Anointed Seeker of the Nora, Champion of the Sun Ring, Hunter of Machines- was never to know the true purpose behind the lives of those lonely souls living in extremely inhospitable parts of the land. For it was a secret passed down through generations from the Old Ones:

_The Customer is always right._

And everyone, everywhere, is a potential customer. _So they wait._

**Author's Note:**

> Bill Wurtz voice “You could make a religion out of that!”  
> God I hope Marks and Spencers went global before the Robot Apocalypse or this throwaway, longform, shit post has some serious background lore errors.
> 
> On a serious note I’m super interested in what parts of our society the next generations of Humans picked up, like I got that the Carja probably got their obsession with the Sun from one of the children that was desperate to see the sun in the hologram Aloy sees in the Mountain. But what else got left over and mangled like a game thousand year old Chinese whispers?
> 
> Please don't kick me out of the fandom, I have actual character driven stories to come.


End file.
